Dragonlove

by Marc Secchia

  * * * *

  The girl-Dragon flexed her back-muscles. Ah. For the first time in her life, she commanded another being. Unfamiliar scents crowded into her nostrils–the metallic stench of the giants, the sulphur-and-musk reek of aggressive male Dragons and the clean, intoxicating scent of freedom. Her belly seethed with potentials she could barely imagine. From the four-pawed, falling-on-her-nose stance of her new body, to the pain of the quarrel buried in her shoulder joint, to the scintillating colours which bewildered her Human consciousness, all was alien and exhilarating and wrong. She trespassed on the province of Dragons.

  So, Grandion, shall we twine necks again? Cerissae crooned. Memories–wholly unwanted memories–battered her mind. Dragon emotions tumbled over her like a Cloudlands-bound stream surging from a league-tall clifftop to dash its fury upon the uncaring rocks below. Molten heat rose in rivers from her lower belly to surge through the massive portals of her hearts. Soughing. Hissing. Piercing her awareness, priming her muscles for action.

  How could she control this? She barely raised her head above the flood, gasping for breath, before she sank again.

  The Dragoness called, Don’t you remember what we shared, Grandion?

  Lia hated the Dragoness. Was this how Cerissae had deceived Grandion, her shifting mind-magic coiling about his consciousness with serpentine glee … only now, she dealt with an irritable, panicked, possessive Dragon Rider!

  You filthy, stinking whelp of a cliff-goat! Lia snarled. Cerissae recoiled, her bared talons involuntarily shrieking across the stone. Sneaking weasel, slink back to your burrow!

  The Amber-Red Dragoness had a foolish, flaccid sag to her lip as she stared at Grandion.

  Lia chuckled, Island drop on your head, you bloated maggot?

  Cerissae flinched.

  With a fierce mental pinch, the Princess reminded herself that all she sought was the Dragon’s freedom. The temptation stunned her. How could evil be so captivating? Barriers she had thought inviolable, the very values and pillars of her life, could crumble in an instant. As she wavered, Grandion’s consciousness roared back into the breach. An avalanche buried her.

  * * * *

  Grandion blinked. Vision! Shapes and shadows and tints washed into his mind, stimulating long-forgotten centres of sight. Oh, this was a taste of glory, filtered through a Human’s pitiful senses.

  Behind him, Razzior rumbled, “So, Shinzen. We’ve a deal. Lead me to the caves of your giants, and my Dragons and I shall rouse the rest. Soon, you’ll have your army.”

  “Your Dragonwings approach?”

  “It takes time, Shinzen.” Razzior’s irritation boiled between his fangs in clouds of smoke. Shinzen appeared unmoved. “Fifty Dragons fly from Rolodia. Sixty roost at Helyon. At Haozi, we number but thirty-one, while over a hundred allied Dragons keep Sapphurion and his toadies busy around Fra’anior.”

  Grandion’s mind quested through the unfamiliar, muddy backwaters of a Human’s psyche. By his mother’s egg, this was how they stood, unbalanced on two spindly legs? His body felt so light, he feared that the merest breath of wind might send it sailing away over the Island-World. A single heart fluttered like a panicked terhal, a flightless bird he had hunted for several times on the most northerly Isles around Pla’arna Cluster.

  Just let Shinzen take this new Dragon-beast to his pillow-roll.

  Suddenly, it struck him with the force of a crossbow quarrel. This was the moment he had waited for, that he had imagined but withheld out of concern–misplaced concern. Dragons did not ask. They seized what was their right. And the Human girl had made it abundantly clear, through oath and deed, that she was his possession.

  The Tourmaline Dragon reached out, and seized Hualiama’s powers for himself. He must have it all. Only a Dragon could survive this.

  The girl resisted. A catlike keening singed his mind before he slammed down the barriers, cutting her off without remorse. Necessity dictated his actions. He needed no distractions.

  But Grandion could not understand the world of Lia’s unique powers. All he knew was what existed, the white-fires trembling within her soul like perfect lilies floating upon a tranquil pond. Arise! The Dragon snatched at the lilies, bruising, trampling, forcing compliance to his will. Now, back to his Dragon body. Keep the sight. The Tourmaline Dragon divided his consciousness. The white-fires surged with him, shockingly lambent, firing him so sharply that the prickling of his scales was torment, that the vast reaches of her potential burned even a creature of flame … he could not breathe … nor command a muscle … a volcano’s core seared his body!

  Then, blessed coolness bathed him through and through. Hualiama’s spirit reached inside the barrier of his Blue Dragon enchantments, the mightiest magic Sapphurion knew to teach his shell-son, as though it were a gossamer veil. She brought balance. Beauty. A hint of melodious laughter, wrapped in anguish. Must you?

  He kicked her away. Begone, and let a Dragon do his work!

  Craven doubts gnawed at him. This was Razzior’s approach. Hualiama would never have mistreated him like this. Did he seek to punish her? Yet the Dragon plunged on recklessly. The Dragonkind desired neither permission nor forgiveness.

  Grandion rapidly rearranged his mental space. Eyes, in the girl’s body. Her power radiating from his scale armour now, burnishing it like the fires of the twin suns reborn, irradiating the cave. Shinzen paled. Razzior’s head began to turn as his magical senses reacted to the incongruously lyrical white-fire trembling the air. Grandion lunged for the girl. The massed giants drew their formation together, but the Dragon simply poured over them, the white-fire slicing cleanly through the spear-heads thrust his way, and the barrage of black giant-magic which momentarily stymied him, shivered and disintegrated into shimmering dust beneath an all-consuming caress that was the pure essence of Hualiama.

  Grandion’s battle-laughter belled out over the watching Dragons. Stunned, not a creature moved as he snatched Lia out of the air in front of Shinzen. The Tourmaline Dragon whirled, smashing the Warlord and his two bodyguards aside with his tail. He lunged for the open cavern entrance and the beckoning skies.

  Oddly, Razzior did not lift a claw to stop him.

  Grandion trampled a smaller Red as he stormed out, finding himself in a huge courtyard covered in nets, the main gates standing ahead, bolted and barred against excursion or incursion. He bobbed the girl’s body about, using her inadequate eyes to survey the scene, cursing beneath his breath as he realised he was still trapped. No. She had one more power, a word which she had described to him ever so charily, spelling it backward. Its allure was greater than any Dragon-hoard, greater than the power pure gold exerted upon a Dragon’s avarice.

  Give it to me.

  No. The tiny spirit flickered weakly, yet still defied him. Grandion, you must not–

  He quashed her with a roar, I will not be disobeyed!

  Now Razzior moved like a river of hot lava, readying his powerful molten rock attack. Grandion knew he could not fight the wily Orange in his condition. Razzior was a notorious brawler, a killer of Dragons who opposed him.

  Screaming, I’ll die without my freedom! Grandion breached the Human girl’s defences and snatched the knowledge from her. Lia’s power alone could scribe his freedom. His jaw cracked open, BEZ-

  Thank you, Razzior whispered, breathing his magic.

  The girl convulsed in his paw, as though the Orange Dragon had torn something out of her with hooks. The word Grandion spoke, died before it touched his fangs. Blackness crowded around his vision. Her vision.

  * * * *

  Warmth was the first sensation a Dragon-eggling knew. The warmth of perfect security in a home which she would learn was a Dragoness’ egg-pouch hid deep within her belly, near the third heart.

  The eggling listened. She listened with more than her tiny, finger-sized ear-canals. She listened with the albumen-soft hide of her babyish Dragon scale armour. She listened with her hearts, feeling their rhythm change to match that of the great, po
unding drumbeat that filled her world, never silent, never ceasing. She listened with her tongue, tasting the strange and exciting flows of magic coursing through the world about her. Sometimes, Dragonsong vibrated through the great body housing her world–her egg. Aye, she was an eggling.

  Her spirit communed with the great, protective spirit surrounding her as surely as the egg sheltered a tiny, developing Dragon baby. She sensed two other eggs near her, dormant, but alive.

  Song or movement stimulated her senses. Soon, she became aware of new sounds and sensations. The Dragon-mother would sing or speak, hum or slumber, and then, a strange thing: a paw, rubbing nearby, its action muted by the body between them–the egg-shell, the womblike egg-pouch, the stomach and the strong hide which covered it all. Joy shivered the eggling’s budding spine-spikes.

  With joy, came knowledge. She was Dragonkind. She was …

  Conscious.

  Thinking. Feeling. Language blossomed in her mind, still too nascent to inform her tongue, but there was no need. Her mind yearned for the great one who loved her.

  Mamafire?

  The movement paused. No. It’s too early. Must be a Dragon-sense.

  Deep within the Dragoness’ belly, a tiny frown of consternation wrinkled the eggling’s brow-ridges. The movement started again. Rubbing. Circles. The Dragoness massaged her egg-laden stomach. She sang, in gorgeous three-part harmony:

  Soft now my egglings, sleep thee tight,

  Mamafire loves thee all the night …

  She squeaked, Mamafire!

  Great, shining white-fires washed over her consciousness. Astonishing. The eggling watched, so entranced that she barely sensed the Dragoness’ affectionate mental touch. A tiny claw pawed at the white-fires, moving as dreamily as a swimmer underwater. Then, she became aware of a great one watching her, a brooding presence which she realised had encompassed her entire life, somehow part of her, but different and separate. She stilled.

  Eggling? The nurturing voice touched off cascades of happiness in her belly. Are you alive? Already?

  Mamafire, is the white … you?

  The white?

  All around me. It’s beautiful, like dancing fire.

  The Dragoness caught her breath sharply. You see white-fires, my eggling? Oh … how? They said egg-heavy mothers have strange thoughts. Am I dreaming?

  The eggling giggled, Mamafire, you’re silly. Can I dance with your fires?

  If you wish, eggling. Let me show you. First, you must shape your spirit, like this …

  The Dragoness demonstrated. In a moment, a fragile form winged from the eggling to join her mother’s white-fires, soaring between them, learning to play in their tempestuous billows, riding the bubbles of her mother’s answering joy with spontaneous delight. They communed. They laughed together. The Dragoness sang the first song of burning, the eggling’s welcome to the fires of Dragon-life.

  And the eggling danced.

  * * * *

  Hualiama surfaced from her egg-dream like a drowning woman breaking a lake’s surface to snatch a breath into stinging, desperate lungs. She expected light. All was darkness, and the memory of a Dragon’s tyranny. Bitter. Soul-lost. Lia had a sense of drawing bruised fragments of herself back together. No beating in her life, of which there had been no lack, could compare to the damage Grandion had meted out.

  Muted thunder rumbled in the distance, suggesting a storm’s approach. Lia knew movement, a Dragon’s body squeezing through a narrow, vibrating metal space, now pinpricks of arrows on her skin, a larger streak of flame against his hide and then the pounding of feet as the Dragon accelerated. Briefly, there was a soaring sensation, but the Dragon’s flight was severely hampered by the crossbow quarrel lodged, by a stroke of ill fortune, right in the protective sheath around the major wing-joint of his left shoulder. As he flapped, the point scraped against a nerve, firing excruciating pangs right along the wing-bones into his wingtip.

  Why could she not see? How did she know this?

  Grandion’s dominion weakened. Her spirit was trapped somewhere inside the Dragon’s being. Her body dangled from his paw. Strangely, Lia sensed this was not the first time in her life she had been so dislocated, spirit from body. Did the removal of spirit from body not kill a physical being? Was being spirit, or spirit being?

  No time for philosophy, though the Human girl sensed she trembled on the cusp of grasping a great and wonderful truth. They must escape.

  Pain ravaged the Dragon’s consciousness. Lia wanted to exult, to whoop the agony on in an act of revenge, but resisted. Images flashed and disintegrated before her. A long green slope leading to a tangled stretch of jungle. Waterways gleaming among the giant trees. A backward glance at Shinzen’s fortress. Dragons climbing into a storm-dark evening sky, wheeling into the pursuit with eager roars. Razzior led the charge.

  The Tourmaline Dragon groaned with the effort, making such a tremendous speed that Lia’s flaccid limbs rattled and flapped in the airstream of his passage. Wouldn’t this damage her joints? Her eyelids fluttered. Grandion growled, trying to force her to keep them open, but Humans did not have the secondary nictitating membrane which protected a Dragon’s eyesight. Vision suffered at this speed. Grandion swept past trees, weaving down one of the channels that led into a leagues-wide swamp. Heavy leaves slapped his flanks and underbelly. Long minutes passed.

  Suddenly, water sheeted over her face. Lia choked.

  Holding her above the brackish swamp waters, Grandion bellied down beneath the trees, forcing his body deep into the thicket. The royal ward felt the Dragon’s magic enfold them in an unnatural silence.

  She groaned at the pain in her arms and legs.

  * * * *

  The Tourmaline Dragon listened watchfully for sounds of pursuit. Hualiama blew water out of her nose and coughed up what sounded like ten mouthfuls of swamp scum, before the sound changed and Grandion realised she had stifled a sob.

  Are you hurt, my Rider?

  Her whispered reply made him wince.

  In the ensuing silence, Grandion worked on his screening magic. No iota could be allowed to escape. Razzior would pursue them with every artifice at the Orange Dragon’s command. He was no fool. But the Tourmaline’s mind kept returning to his Rider. What had prompted that response? They had escaped. She had broken the cage; he had broken Shinzen’s defences, blasted down his front door and winged away. Perfect teamwork. Did she understand what a sacrifice he had made in giving up his eyesight again?

  We must see to your wounds. Warm water splashed along his flank. Small hands and feet made the ascent. His scales prickled with a Dragon-sense of impending doom. Even now, in extremity, she had a largeness of spirit that baffled him. Hualiama served her erstwhile oppressor.

  He said, We escaped, didn’t we, Rider-heart?

  I’m not your bloody heart … anything! Lia bit off her mental scream. Quiet. Razzior approaches.

  Grandion whispered, We’re alive, aren’t we?

  The Dragon smelled a strangeness about her. Was it the ruzal magic? Eventually, as though she pawed through words for the right fragments to throw at him, the Princess cried, You stupid, spineless … reptilian tyrant! Her voice cracked. That was an act of … of such … it was mental rape!

  He shook his head. Her affliction shook the Islands of his world as though an army of Land Dragons had attacked them. That’s strong language–

  It’s true! Dragons seize what they want! They violate, despoil and never give back. I came to you in that cage and ever since you’ve treated me like something nasty you found under your paw. You maimed me, exploited our–

  Her raw emotion ignited his furnaces. I did what had to be done!

  You had no right!

  I had every right. You swore an oath.

  You swore to honour me!

  And I have. You bleating wretch, you live beneath the twin suns! I gave my hide for you.

  What do you know of honour? Lia kicked the quarrel embedded in his shoulder, making Grandion’s ent
ire body spasm. Because of you, Razzior stole my magic. Now I am less, Grandion. I’m the little one, so inferior to a smug, self-serving, greedy monster who couldn’t wait to plunder the powers he’s so infernally jealous of–don’t think I didn’t feel your claws in my mind, Grandion! To think I called you Dragonlove. To think I let you in.

  Aye, you did, and–

  I hate you! I wish I’d left you to rot in that cave!

  Her scream stunned the Dragon. He had caused this injury? Her voice stabbed him with the icicles of a Blue Dragon ice-storm. He could not imagine this Hualiama. No fires. There was none of the habitual lilt that made him imagine she was smiling, just a little, whenever she spoke.

  Grandion’s mind reeled, running back in a squawking panic over the many paths of his interactions with Hualiama since he had known her. Did they not bring out the best in each other? Had he not forced her to tear the ruzal loose? Had he not borne her upon his back, the greatest indignity possible for a creature of fire and magic, a transgression which thus far had cost him six years of his life, three of those in captivity?

  She tugged at the quarrel. This thing’s buried up to the fletching. How will we remove it?

  You’re the Dragonfriend, he protested.

  Don’t say that! Just … don’t. I thought there might have been … something, between us, Grandion. She kept fighting her tears, and losing. What a fool I’ve been. A pathetic, benighted fool.

  Hualiama had reached out to him first, and known the act to be profane. Grandion had shown no such scruples. He had acted with perfect draconic domination. Rue brought howling storms of dark-fires to his hearts, the knowledge that there was a better way. There had to be.

  Lia, my Rider …

  There are Dragons about, she snapped. Give me your paw, Dragon. You’ll have to dig this one out yourself.

  Give me your eyes, and I will do it.

  Frosty silence.

  Chapter 20: To Rise on Wings

  TWo days of skulking through a foetid swamp wearing two large holes in his hide was enough to make any Dragon snappish. Grandion knew that Lia had been right to force him to dig the crossbow quarrels free with his own talons. The Dragon ate well, supping on three anacondas, any one of which would have made a tidy meal of his tiny companion. She picked off eager swarms of swamp leeches attracted by the scent of his blood in the water, and ignored him otherwise.